Isidora
by Shadow131
Summary: When he leaves, he whispers "I will have her yet..."


A.N.: A quick shout out to BreatheofNocte, who pretty much inspired this piece with her awesome first person perspective pieces (and their sexiness). Not an easy thing to pull off, and she does it ohhh so well.

 **Isidora**

I knew this was coming before Naeus said a word. He has such pouting brown eyes, his expression comes right through them, even when he thinks he's being clever. He was twisting his wedding band around his finger, which was often a nervous gesture on his part, but it actually seemed rather poetically prophetic in this instance. It made me smile a little. "Silvana won't stand for it any longer," he whispered apologetically. "She's demanding the affair end. I can't risk her going back to her father's house _again_."

I gave Naeus my signature reassuring smile. He was such a milquetoast. Silvana was the dominant one in this relationship, and honestly, I was glad she was around. The Elf Kingdom would have been in a very sorry way indeed were it solely to rely upon Naeus, who needed my hand on his arm for _constant_ reassurances. No, I wasn't bitter. These were the prices for playing with married men, and I wouldn't have wanted Naeus for my husband anyway. Not that I'd turn down any crown offered to me, such as I am, but to be wife to _that_ king? I much preferred being the bit on the side. "Of course, darling," I cooed to him, and he gave one of his weak, baby smiles. "The time we had together was so special. I will cherish it forever." Some men want their lovers to forget about them so moving on is simple; some want to be told that no other lover will ever compare; some are like Naeus and need to be babied.

"You are good, Isidora," he sighed, his eyes soft with love. Poor, foolish Naeus. I hoped Silvana would toughen him somewhat. "You will still stay for the festivities, won't you?"

My smile widened just a touch into a grin. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, dear Naeus." How else is a girl to pick out her next, ahem, patron?

We fey like a good party, and we like our fun to come in regular intervals. It's one of the benefits of immortality: plenty of time to solve problems later and enjoy ourselves in the moment. This one that Naeus and Silvana were the hosts of was fairly casual in tone; this is not to say casual, but merely that it was not overrun with the ceremony and pomp that would be necessary for a high holiday or special occasion. It also meant I didn't have to wear more layers than pages in a magic tome, and for that I was more than grateful. I would be more comfortable, less hot, it would be easier to dance – and this way I could also show far more cleavage. My color choice tonight was a shimmering red, which is good for a girl on the hunt. It shows passion, intensity, aggressiveness. And this _particular_ item dipped so far between my bosom that it actually showed part of my midriff. A girl has to come prepared for these things.

I gave the room a quick once over as I smiled, my presence being announced by a willowy wood elf. Silvana was giving me a cold frown from her seat at the host's table, but I extended my soft grin to her as well; a "we're not enemies," kind of look. I suppose it must have mollified her a little, for she turned her head away and back to her conversation partner. Ah, Silvana. What good friends we might have been were _I_ the daughter of a King as you are.

Now, who was here...Eradmol, the Troll King, was making an appearance, already well on his way to drinking far too much; and gods above, did he bring _all five_ of his daughters? He must be becoming desperate to have them wed and out from underfoot. A girl who wasn't as clever and knowledgeable as I am, she would have thought this a discouraging sign. I just beamed – I would be the sensual respite from girls desperate for their hand fastings. I'd have to send Eradmol a box of chocolates sometime.

And who else, who else...a few lesser monarchs, men with lands and no titles, men with magic and no lands, a regular pick-and-mix of masculinity. But it was then that my attention was caught by a fluttering of fans in the corner of the room. There was a perfumed scent, a gaggle of girls nearly tripping over one another just so they could fawn over some bounder or another. But bless my boots – the _Goblin King_. We didn't exactly run in the same circles, King Jareth and I, so we had never been formally introduced, but I had heard a great deal about him (of course I had, who hadn't?): wickedly handsome, ladies of balls would murmur, and always in demand as a dance partner. A man of intense sexuality and power – and deliciously unattached. His position also allowed him far more opportunities to flitter about in the Aboveground, and the consequence was that he was constantly subverting the current fashion to suit his tastes and influences from the mortal realm. Today he was in a marvelous, albeit a bit odd, get up of burgundy colored leather. The collar extended _at least_ three inches from his neck, circling his throat while his flaxen hair framed his face. He had knee high boots whose ankles I swear had tiny skulls at their outsets, and the less said about his skintight trousers, the better. It is enough to note he should have been poured into his clothes, not made to put them on like we simpler folk.

But the ladies that circled about him like fairies do fresh flowers seemed to be having little luck in coaxing him out of his corner stronghold. In fact, he barely even registered them speaking to him. I have never seen a man looking _so bored_ in all my life. Actually, bored might not be the proper word for it...Even amongst the fey, he would be considered a very pale man, with very arresting features and strange eyes, and it was his eyes that really caught my attention in the moment; he didn't seem to be looking at the hall around him, at the goings on and drinking and dancing. Instead, his looks drifted far away, as if to a dimension only he could see, and no one could rouse him from it. His thin mouth was pulled down into a condescending frown as girls flirted and fussed and went by unnoticed by His Majesty.

I beamed. I didn't tend to fuss with unmarried men – not for any hard or fast rule, the married ones simply came easier – but this one could be _just my sort_ , I could just tell. Moreover, it was a delightful challenge, and we fey do love our games. With a flick of my hair, I sauntered closer to this cloud of female attention, my hips swaying deliciously all the while; I could feel the eyes of many of the men and even some of the women upon me, and that was good. Better to let everyone know who I was and what I could accomplish.

The girls who were hoping to catch the King's eye were glaring at me as I approached. You get used to that when you're in my line of semi-work. They're poor little jealous dears, all, and I saw that all five of Eradmol's daughters had been making eyes at the Goblin King. The eldest two in particular seemed put out by my presence, and I could just hear them whisper to one another, "Isidora..." Ah, my fame precedes me! I saw King Jareth's eye just vaguely twitch in my direction, almost a look of curiosity from his otherwise blank, white features, and I gave my most sultry smile. Yes, I still had it alright...

I curtseyed low, which also gave a good view of what I had to offer, and the King's eyes followed my descent and rise. "Your Majesty," I murmured in a low, slightly husky tone. "I have not had the inestimable honor to introduce myself – I am Isidora."

The Goblin King gave a curt nod of his sharp chin, perhaps murmuring something along the lines of, "Charmed," but he said nothing else. I smiled a little brighter and pressed on, sliding into a nearby seat and pulling a glass of champagne from a passing servant.

"How are you enjoying the festivities, My Liege? Quite droll, is it not?"

His chin rested on the ball of his fist, which I noticed was clad in black leather gloves. It wasn't that gloves were so out of place at a party, even Eradmol had white satin gloves – but his were formal, whereas the Goblin King's gloves would not have looked out of place on the hands of a man who tamed stallions for his master. How wonderfully subversive. In response to my question, however, he did little more than grunt. Some of the girls were moving away; either the King frustrated them too much, or they did not wish to compete with me.

I leaned closer to him, over the arm of my seat, and it made my cleavage much more...accessible again. He hardly noticed. "I see you're a man in dire need of...occupation."

"What _did_ give you that idea..." he muttered, but I considered that an excellent start.

I gave a soft, throaty laugh. "Naeus has never been the most engaging of hosts." Another grunt. "I am, however, intimately familiar with this Castle grounds." He looked at me a little more closely then, a slim eyebrow just barely raised. I gave one of my soft, sly smiles. "That includes where he keeps the good brandy."

King Jareth actually seemed somewhat amused; he laughed very slightly, very softly in the base of his throat. "Well now – that does sound more entertaining."

I held out my delicate hand, tilting my chin down so that my eyelashes could bat in their most alluring way. "Are you up for a little...adventure, My Lord?"

He paused a moment, in study of my hand, before he at last stood and took it in his own, helping me rise to my feet as well. "Why not. It's better than listening to Eradmol begin ballads now that he's as drunk as a sailor." I gave my charmed laugh and away we went.

The old saying goes that King is Kingdom, and it's always one I've taken to heart. That, and advice from my dear old Mumsy about the swiftest way to a man's wallet, but that's for another time. No, I had selected the Goblin King deliberately, and I selected this challenge just as much so. Suppose I had gone after Eradmol for a moment: old, rich, stable, probably easy prey for an exciting young morsel like myself. But consider what personality one might assign to a troll, and you can begin to see why I was not keen on the idea. I suspect he's the kind to drool in his sleep, and his sexual kinks were more likely to be tortuous, as opposed to titillating. A Goblin King, however? Mischievous, anxious for distraction, grand for secrecy and illicit thrill. Oh yes, this was going to pay off _far_ better in the long run, and I made sure to take my time in heading toward Naeus' unguarded saloon.

I am really not given enough credit for my clever mind. At first I took a meandering tour of the Castle, opening doors to studies and libraries, brushing my hand against his in the slightest of suggestive ways. He seemed to notice, but otherwise not react. I became bolder after that, dropping innuendos and letting my hand linger on his arm, tittering as I opened bedroom doors and saying, "Oh my, how could I get so confused?" His eyebrow was shooting up just a little higher – good, he understood the intent and was not adverse to it. However, it's important not to draw out the teasing stage too long, then it's just irritation. After I was certain he had no particular qualms with my laying hands upon him, I took us straight to Naeus' private cellar.

The Goblin King seemed interested in the dimly lit room, hung with low lanterns. The cellar was dug deep into the earth, and roots of trees had been guided to make shelves for various bottles of wines and spirits. The bar was made from one perfectly shaped piece of spider oak, and beautiful veins of black wove through the carefully waxed surface. A very different place from home, I'd wager. As for me, I dug out a very old bottle of brandy and two snifters, and perched myself on the edge of the bar top – but not before hiking up my flowing skirts, the better to show off my legs. King Jareth noticed, but most of his attention was reserved for his surroundings. "A drink, My Lord?"

He smiled a little – a _very_ little – and approached in the most self-assured swagger he had shown off all evening. Was he more comfortable away from the guests? I would not have thought him the shy sort. "You are a rather devious little minx, aren't you?"

I took one delicate sip of the golden liquid, being sure to run the tip of my tongue over my lips, before laying out on the bar's surface, the better to advertise my bosom. "I can be whatever you want me to be, My Liege..."

A strange look came across his face when I said that, and his hand grabbed at my hair before I knew what to expect. Oh dear, I hoped I hadn't dreadfully miscalculated this. "That is an interesting promise." His voice was low, almost a husky, raspy purr, and his very strange pupils were blown to make the most of the low lighting. "Can you live up to it, I wonder."

Well, I'm no bashful maid, so a little rough handling was hardly going to put me into a state of panic. Caution, certainly, but not panic. The worst thing to do with a man like the Goblin King is to then make him think everything you've done up to that point has been a great, big tease. No, it's far better to impress him with your mettle, and to soldier on. Thus saying, I gave my most sultry smile and slid _very_ slowly to the floor – on my knees – with his hand still wrapped in my thick hair all the while. "May I have permission to show you?"

He liked that, his lips quirked in a quarter of a smile, and he leaned his lithe frame gracefully back against the bar. "Permission granted."

Girls like the Troll Princesses go about this business all wrong; if a man wants to marry, he will make that well known and begin the hunt in earnest. So all these well-bred ladies, flaunting their pedigrees and how suitable they'd be on thrones, all they do is irritate their potential mates. No, if you want to catch a man who is reluctant to be caught, you can't let him know your endgame. Flatter his skills in bed, but don't ever let him think he has all of you. You must become his addiction, so that his every waking moment is consumed with you, so that he cannot possibly pull away, and _then_ you have yourself a crown. Naeus was easy to do that to, I would have had the Elf throne in a heartbeat, had Silvana not had it first.

It seemed like I was at a good start with the Goblin King, for his grasp upon my hair had grown even tighter, and he pulled me all the closer the more I worked, his eyes closed and a slow hiss escaping his sharp teeth. It was interesting to me that he kept his eyes closed the entire time; some men do, but many like to see what's being done to them. They're really very simple creatures, even kings. Not King Jareth, his eyes were very much shut, but he _did_ speak, at least a little. Most of it was incomprehensible noises of pleasure, but not all of it. "Precious thing," he would say, which was a rather sweet term of endearment I was not expecting. I also did not expect how gentle his hands would be, their tight grip upon my hair aside. No, his thumbs smoothed down my cheeks very softly, and he did not attempt to choke me, which is a nice change from many aggressive men, I don't mind telling you. But what was oddest of all was when I had him on the precipice of completion, when his breath was the most ragged and a single bead of sweat rolled from his hairline to the soft spot of his temple. He pulled me in closer as he came, long and hard, and cried out into the quiet of the cellar, " _Oh, Sarah_!"

….This I was not expecting. I wasn't insulted, just surprised. Usually it was men crying out my name instead of the woman they were with, not vice versa. I let him cool down inside my mouth, let him slip away to clean himself with a handkerchief he left discarded on the bar top and even let him readjust his clothing and smooth back his hair before I rose and similarly dabbed at my own lips. When his back was to me, I gave a little chuckle and smoothed my hands across his shoulders. "That was nice..."

"Yes."

"Jareth..." I purred, nuzzling my nose softly against the back of his ear. "Who is Sarah."

This was my one mistake.

He went as stiff as the dead beneath my hands, which was my first indication that I had made an unfortunate misstep. My second was when he wheeled to face me, so that my hands were knocked to the side, and I was completely defenseless. He had a kind of fury in his eyes that I have rarely seen before or since. A little danger in a man can be intensely erotic – a sense of the unknown, of an illicit thrill. This was not like that. This was danger in the true fear of great physical harm. Some men have a remarkable talent for becoming aroused immediately after congress. I think the Goblin King was given a second wind by pure rage alone. Before I could give a word of apology or go back to bowing and scraping, the man had turned me and pushed me over the bar top once again. Before I could suss out what was what, I felt him pulling my skirts up, and one thin layer even smacked into the back of my head, the graceless brute. I wasn't upset or afraid, but I _was_ irritated; it was going to completely wrinkle my delicate silk bodice.

This is not to say I did not _become_ afraid – quite the contrary. But it was not from his rough treatment or his strength and severity. It was from the way he _spoke_. Strange, guttural hissing sounds one might expect from a screeching owl, not a well-dressed king, though appearances are very often deceiving. " _Don't dare speak her name_ ," was the first coherent injunction he gave me, his hands bruising on my poor hips. The rest was far less comprehensible, more desperate, angry curses – and I'm not even sure if they were directed at this Sarah girl or me. When he'd finished, he turned me round again, my chin bruised between two of his long, tight fingers. "I do not wish to discuss this event ever again." Did he think I did? "You will _not_ bring her up, not with me or anyone else, nor what has transpired." He let me go and made to leave the cellar – but not before grabbing his abandoned snifter, of course – and I swear I could hear him mutter something along the lines of, "I will have her yet..."

Myself, I stayed in the cellar just a little while. I was a bit shaken, you see. I wasn't sure why, I wasn't really hurt – believe you me, I've suffered through far worse than what the Goblin King gave out that night. There was just something about him, the way he moved and spoke, and most of all the way his eyes flashed that I found frightening to the core of me. I might have actually felt some pity for this Sarah creature; whoever she was, she had angered the Goblin King, and that was _not_ something to do lightly. I wondered then, as I have often wondered since, whether the King must love or hate her. Oh, clearly he desired her, but that was not a clear indication of one or the other, and amongst the fey, love can be as bad, and even worse, as hate.

I sat alone in the cellar a while, just trying to regain that sense of calm that is so crucial to any working girl. It was lucky the party upstairs would keep all guests distracted, for it allowed me time to slip back into Naeus' quarters to clean myself and put my appearance right again. It was a bad go of things, but it wasn't the end of the world. A girl has to go on living, after all. So I smiled when I came back into the feasting hall, and felt the hungry eyes of other, less volatile men upon me. I had even been able to touch up my perfume again, which was a heady and seductive scent I've rarely seen fail. Perhaps I might try Eradmol after all?

I am Isidora, and I am not easily put off.


End file.
